


Painted Skies

by WitheringStrider



Category: Borderlands, Tales from the Borderlands - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Coming Untouched, Dirty Talk, Does this count as powerplay?, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, I'm not sorry, M/M, Maybe it's powerTALK, Prostitution, Shit will happen I promise, This is purely for my own pleasure
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-26
Updated: 2016-06-26
Packaged: 2018-07-18 15:02:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7319989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WitheringStrider/pseuds/WitheringStrider
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack hates the rain. But it doesn't always end bad.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> First attempt at Rhack so please give me some slack
> 
>  
> 
> Pfffffffft I rhymed and made myself giggle

Jack hates the rain.

He hates how it makes his clothes cling to his skin. He hates how it makes it hard to see out of his windshield. He hates how it makes his employees late.

Jack hates the rain.

As the man sits impatiently at a red light - "Really? ANOTHER ONE? I really have somewhere else I need to be." - with a cigarette between his fingers near the barely-rolled-down window, he hears laughter. In confusion, he instinctively looks around for the source, cursing the heavy rain and turning the windshield wipers higher. With better vision, Jack notices a boy, no older than twenty, skipping and spinning in the falling water.

Jack finds himself staring in awe at the child-like behaviour. He eyes the figure as best he can, and notices three things.

The first is the fact that this kid is missing an arm. ' _How the fuck do you just go around losing body parts? That's just so irrisponsible.'_

The second is how _goddamned **skinny**_  this kid is. It's almost painful to see. Didn't he eat?

The third he only notices when another vehicle pulls up next to him. How the kid suddenly changes, a coy smile pulling at his lips as he leans in close to the window, knowing how to position his arm and legs seductively.

Jack knows exactly what is going on.

When the boy gets into the vehicle, Jack watches them pull away. A car honking at him brings the man back to the real world, and he quickly moves off to go on his way.

Who was that kid?


	2. Uh-Oh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bad shit and good shit happens

The second time Jack finds the kid is on a bridge.

  
He's - again - stopped at a red light, in the rain, when he notices a familiar, tiny figure missing a limb. The figure is leaning over the side of the bridge, looking down. He doesn't even look around before hiking his leg up and putting it over the wall.

  
Jack races into action, throwing his car door open and running over to the kid, pulling him back away from the wall and tight to his chest.

  
"Kid, what the fuck are you doing?" Jack asks, confusion and anger in his voice. He's all for killing people, but not people killing themselves.

  
All he gets in return is a miserable whimper and a sniffle, the tiny person in his arms relaxing against the heat of his body.

  
"Kid? Hey, kiddo, stay with me," Jack states in his booming voice, snapping fingers in front of the boy's face. His eyes come open.  


"Care to explain why you were about to take a nosedive into heavy traffic, Kitten?" Jack questions him, an eyebrow raised.

  
The boy just shakes his head, beginning to shiver. Right. The kid must be cold. He's way too damned thin.

  
"... Look, Kiddo. I was just on my way to lunch, and I ain't about to leave you here, so how about you come with me and get some meat on your bones, huh?"

  
The boy salivates at the thought of food, his body nodding before he can even think properly.

  
"Good. Get in." Jack opens the passenger door of his expensive car. He doesn't even care that the seats will be soaked. The boy slides in gracefully, every movement practiced. A routine.

  
Jack runs around to the driver's side and takes his seat, pulling on his seat belt and helping the kid with his.

  
"What's your name, Kitten?" Jack asks as he turns to face forward and finally move his car.

  
"... 's Rhys..." he hears the boy mumble quietly. He gives a small smile.

  
"Rhys? Alright, Rhysie, puddin' pie, what do you want to eat?"

  
The boy - Rhys - just shrugs his shoulders and nibbles at his lip. "M'boss won't like me eatin' without his supervision..."

  
"Well, your boss can suck the shit right out of my ass. You're painfully thin, Kiddo. We're getting you some chow, pronto."

  
Rhys squirms nervously in his seat and looks down at his lap, his body a clear reminder of what happens when he doesn't do exactly what his boss wants.

  
"O-okay," the boy stutters out, shifting his gaze up to look at the man that saved him. He was older, but not old. Just older than he. His once-neat hair flattened against his forehead and drenched from being out in the rain. Rhys feels bad about that.

  
"My name is Jack, by the way. Just so you know. It's only fair. How do waffles sound? Waffles sound fuckin' magnificent to me, pumpkin," Jack babbles. He doesn't sound mad about being wet, or having a stranger in his car. He just... he seems normal. Which is weird to Rhys.

  
"Waffles are good. Yeah," he says, his voice a little louder. He smiles softly.

  
"Good, pumpkin. I know the best place."

  
Their voices die down and Jack turns the radio up. Rhys bobs his small body to the rhythm of the music, enjoying the heavy bass and guitar riffs. He doesn't pay any attention to where they're going, only knowing that they're at the place when the car stops. Rhys looks out the window and recognizes the sign. It's one of his favourite breakfast diners.

  
"Alrighty, buttercup. Get out, we're getting some grub," Jack states as he gets out of his side of the vehicle, walking quickly to open Rhys' door and hold it while he gets out.  
Rhys slides out of the car with ease, quickly moving under the awning to avoid getting re-soaked. Jack leads him inside with a hand on the small of his back and a heavy hand on his arm. He's warm.

  
Once they're seated, Jack hands Rhys the menu. He already knows what he's getting.

  
"So, Rhysie, how'd you lose your arm?"

  
Rhys stiffens immediately, his knuckles growing white as his grip on the menu tightens. He bites his lip harshly.

  
"Whoa, whoa, okay Rhysie, calm down, too personal. It's okay."

  
Rhys stays frozen in place. Jack reaches over to touch the boy's arm gently.

  
"Kiddo?"

  
Rhys starts, jerking a little and looking up at the older man.

  
"S-s-sorry, sorry, I'm sorry - " he sputters, trying to make it better.

  
"Whoa, kid. You're fine. You just... froze. Just focus on the menu, okay? I won't ask you about it again."

  
Rhys nods, turning his shaky attention to the menu in his hand. He points at the smallest thing on the menu, and Jack snorts.

  
"I ain't gettin' that shit for you, you're gettin' somethin' good if you're gettin' anythin'," Jack states, beckoning the waitress over and placing an order for something Rhys hadn't even read on the menu. He looks at the small boy and smirks.

  
"You'd get better, nicer business if you weren't so tiny, anyways. I have a feeling your ass would be plump as fuck if you gained like, twenty pounds."

  
Rhys blushes and looks down

  
"You know what I do," Rhys mumbles, toying with his drenched shirt. At least the diner is warm.

  
"Yeah, buttercup. I know. But I also know you're not being treated right. You're... missing shit, and you're far too skinny. Who the fuck is your bossman?"

  
Rhys doesn't respond, shifting nervously in his seat.

  
"Kiddo, c'mon. Your man could use some pointers on how to keep his pretty boys happy and healthy."

  
"That isn't what he's focused on. All he wants is the cash, and if we don't do what he says, he - "

  
"Who the fuck is he?" Jack interjects, his once-calm voice now dripping malice. Whoa there, Jack. Since when do you care if random strangers are treated correctly? You're known for terrorizing your employees - well, at least you're not _slowly starving them to death._

  
"I-I - "

  
" _Rhysie_."

  
Rhys cowers away from the angry man, hanging his head and pulling his knees up to his chest.

  
"H-Hugo... Hugo Vasquez..."

  
Jack stops, processing the information, before a cruel smile splits his face and booming laughter erupts from his chest.

  
"Wallethead? Motherfucking, _Wallethead_ is the one doing this shit? I knew I should have shot him when I had the chance, the _swine_."

  
Rhys blinks at Jack in confusion. Wallethead?

  
"You know, the jackhole didn't even have all that hair before," Jack says, still chuckling. "It's all been implanted. It's all fake. He was such a fuckin' joke, man."

  
Rhys imagines Vasquez without all of his precious hair and gives a giggle. Jack looks at him and his smile becomes softer.

  
"Yeah. He was fun to fuck with. Terrified of the higher ups but everyone is at Hyperion."

  
Rhys stops. He stares at the man for a second.

  
"W-wait, wait! You're... you're _the_ Handsome Jack? CEO of Hyperion?"

  
"You bet that soon-to-be pretty little ass of yours I am."

  
Rhys' breath catches in his throat and he scrambles to sit more proper.

  
"O-oh, how did I - how did I not notice - I - I used to - oh, man, I'm you're - I-I - I'm your biggest fan!" Rhys sputters out, his voice growing high-pitched.

  
"Kid, Kiddo, calm your tits. I've already seen you normally. Don't act all proper now. Jesus."

  
Rhys quiets down, his eyes wide and studying Jack's features. How had he not noticed?

  
"Why... why would you even help someone like me?" Rhys asks softly, forcing his eyes away and casting them down to the table.

  
"You're young and cute. Don't make me regret it, cupcake," Jack says, his threat empty but taken very seriously by Rhys.

  
Jack looks over as the waitress brings over their plates. He whistles at the sight of the food, smirking.

  
"Alrighty, cupcake. Here's the dealio. You eat half of that, at least, and I'll see about getting you free from Vasquez."

  
Free? From Vasquez?

  
"Why do you care so much?" Rhys questions, taking a small, tentative bite. He hums at how great it tastes.

  
"Because I was in the business once. But I had the balls to kill my bossman when he got too rough and handsy," Jack states, not even attempting to quiet his voice or hide the fact at all.

  
Rhys shivers a little. Jack was in the business?

  
"How did you get so successful?"

  
"I'd like to say I got it fair and square, Rhysie, but at my age you don't just become CEO. I had to shoot my way to the top. Literally." Jack smiles, reminiscing. "For added effect, I used Hyperion guns. They never saw me coming."

  
Rhys shudders and purrs softly. He suddenly feels himself begin to stiffen and bites his lip.

  
"Wh-what else?" Rhys asks, his voice a bit shaky. Is he really getting off to this?

  
Jack perks up at Rhys' interest.

  
"Well, Rhysie, let me tell you about just how great it feels to step foot on the manufacturing floor and see everyone duck their heads in terror."

  
Rhys' chest heaves softly as he struggles to breathe properly. He makes sure to keep his fork firmly in hand, or else something else might be happening.

  
"Yeah? It feels that good?" Rhys asks breathlessly.

  
Jack raises and eyebrow but asks no questions, simply continuing.

  
"Oh yeah, buttercup. The best is going in to get a new gun prototype and lining up those useless other testers. The terror on their faces is priceless when they're not sure who or how many of them are about to get blasted.”

  
Rhys' mouth falls open and he hunches forward. He feels heat coiling low in his belly. How is this even happening?

  
Jack stops talking to take in the state Rhys is in. He gives a small smirk when he realizes what exactly is wrong with the younger man.

  
"Are you gettin' off to this, Rhysie? How big and powerful I am? Look at me, buttercup. Let me see those eyes."

  
Rhys finds himself obeying, eyes quickly flicking up to lock his gaze on Jack's face. He gyrates his hips a little, but is unable to get any friction. He whines needily.

  
"Cum, baby boy. You can do it," Jack half-whispers, a smirk on his face. When Rhys goes to bring his arm under the table Jack reaches over and grasps his wrist, tutting.

"Nuh-uh, nope. No touching."

  
"B-but I - !"

  
"Shhhh, Rhysie. You can do it. Be a good boy, cum for me," Jack teases, but it's just enough to send Rhys over the edge. His back arches as his balls draw up close to his body. He has to bite his lip hard enough to draw blood to keep himself from just screaming out. When the most intense orgasm of his life finally subsides, Jack smirks softly at the boy, stroking the back of his hand with his thumb.

  
"So you like power, hm? Kinky."

  
"S-sh-shut up..." Rhys mutters weakly.

  
"Nah-ah-ah, Rhysie. I'm not the one that just got off without even a single touch," Jack points out, an eyebrow raised.

  
Rhys frowns as he squirms, the sticky mess on the inside of his damp clothes uncomfortable.

  
"Wanna come to my place to clean up after you're done eating, baby boy?"

  
Rhys blushes and nods, silently going back to eating. He's still trying to even out his breathing.

  
" _Good boy_."


	3. Well That Escalated Quickly

Rhys can't even really remember how this happened. Between being exhausted after an intense orgasm and the heavy, pleasant, full feeling in his belly, he was borderline comatose the entire car ride to Jack’s building.

So when he steps foot into the penthouse, it almost takes him by surprise. He looks around with heavy lids, before his eyes widen because holy fuck, _there's expensive shit **everywhere**._

“Like what you see, Rhysie?” Jack questions in his ear, his hand on the small of Rhys’ back to give him a light push in so he can close the door. “Not many people get to see this place. You feel lucky, Kiddo?”

At a loss for words, Rhys just nods, his breath caught in his throat. Everything in the room was absolutely _gorgeous_. How could one person have so much nice stuff?

Jack moves his way past Rhys, further into the penthouse. He slides off his jacket and hangs it neatly on the coat rack off to one side of the hall, slipping his shoes off and putting them in their designated slot. Dear god, all he had were _stupid dad sneakers_.

Rhys finds himself talking before he can stop himself.

“Do you have _anything_ more tasteful than _dad shoes_?” Rhys hears himself say, immediately bringing his hand up to cover his mouth as his eyes snap to Jack’s figure, which by now has stopped retreating down the hallway.  
Jack turns slowly, an eyebrow raised as he faces Rhys. He crosses his arms over his chest, smirking.

“Really, Rhysie? You're gonna complain about my shoes? They're fuckin’ _comfortable_ , ‘kay, pumpkin? Some of us need extra support,” he says defensively, as if Rhys’ words wounded him. The situation makes Rhys want to burst out with laughter, because Jack is that defensive about his shoes, but he doesn't. He knows better.

“I'm sorry. I didn't realize your appreciation of dad shoes was purely a comfort thing,” Rhys says with just a _tinge_ of sass. He can't help it.

Jack wants to smack the kid upside the head for even just _thinking_ is sassing him, but he doesn't. He simply shoots him a very unhappy look, turns around, and walks off.

But there's one problem.

_Rhys has no idea where he's supposed to go or what he can touch._

“Um… Jack?” he calls down the hallway, taking tiny steps and looking around as he goes. “Jack?”

Jack happens to be in his kitchen, pouring himself a glass of scotch. Really expensive scotch. When Rhys finds him, he already has the glass to his lips, the ice clinking against the sides as he sips. He looks at the boy and raises his eyebrow once more.

“Want one, kiddo?”

“N-no, no thanks,” Rhys says quickly. A glass of that scotch was worth more than he made a night, he bet.

Jack takes a last sip before setting the glass down on the counter. He moves toward Rhys.

“Well, then, let’s get you in the shower, eh, Kitten?” he says, leading Rhys down the hallway. The boy is close on his heels, not wanting to be left behind.

When Rhys walks into the bathroom, he looks around in awe at the large space. A marble tub and a separate shower, a toilet with its own room - seriously what the fuck is the reason for that? - and so much stuff that really isn't needed for a bathroom. And it was all so _pretty_.

“Whoa…” Rhys breathes out, touching lightly at one of the delicate designs painting the wall.

Jack moves to one of the cupboards, pulling out a washcloth, a loofah, and a towel.

“I'm not sure if you use one of these poofy things or a rag, so, here,” the older man states, holding the items out to Rhys, who quickly takes them. “You can use either the bath or the shower, it doesn't matter which. Just call if you need help or some shit, alright?”

With that, he just… leaves. Leaves Rhys on his own in this huge bathroom with everything ever.

“W-wait - !” Rhys calls, hurriedly opening the door Jack had just closed.

Jack turns with a raised eyebrow, eyes narrow. He seems annoyed and amused at the same time. “What, kiddo?”

Rhys bites his lip and swallows hard. “I-I, ah… I don't have my soap or shampoo with me?”

At this, Jack lets out a loud, bellowing laugh that echoes in the bathroom. “Cupcake, just use my shit.”

Rhys blinks at Jack dumbly for a moment before blushing deeply. He nods and promptly shuts the door, shivering a little. He's going to smell like Jack. Oh yes.

After stripping, he works on figuring out how to turn the shower on. _What kind of bath is this? There's **so many** knobs and buttons._

It takes him a few minutes of tinkering before the tap finally, _finally_ yields water, and a few more to get the water temperature right, but once he does, he's pretty much positive that he's died and gone to wherever it is that's nice when you die. He starts recapping the night. He thinks about how he was just _so ready_ to send himself over the edge of the bridge, about how _Handsome Jack_ is the one that saved him, about how Jack had paid for his food and brought him back to his penthouse to shower after _he came in his pants_ because Jack was talking about all his power.

God, he's fucked up.

Rhys picks up Jack’s shampoo and thanks the deities that it isn't a 2-in-1 shampoo and conditioner. A second glance almost makes him drop the bottle. He knows this brand, and how goddamned expensive it is. He bites his lip and makes sure he uses the stuff sparingly. He's also quite thankful when he sees there's a conditioner to match. Dad shoes aside, at least the man knows how to care for his hair.

Once the conditioner is sitting nicely in his hair, Rhys grabs for the loofah Jack had left out for him. He wets the material before adding a sparing amount of Jack’s body wash. He shivers as he rubs the softest loofah he's ever felt along his skin, biting his lip. Well now he definitely smells like Jack. Oh boy.

After a thorough scrub, Rhys rinses his body - wow Jack even has a handheld shower head - and the loofah before turning the water almost entirely cold to rinse out his hair. He shivers a little, but at least it helps him lose the sort-of bone he'd been getting from making himself smell like Jack.

Turning off the water is much easier than turning it on, since he knows which knob is the correct one. Once that feat has been accomplished, Rhys grabs the towel Jack left him, humming as he dries his hair before the rest of his body. He freezes, however, when he realizes he has no other clothing with him. Tying the towel tightly around his waist, Rhys goes over to the door and opens it marginally.

“Jack?” he calls out into the hallway. He hears a grunt as the older man gets up at his call.

“What is it, cupcake?” he calls as he makes his way toward the door.

“I, um…” Rhys tries to start. He bites his lip. “I don't have any other clothes with me?”

Jack stops for a moment, eyeing the door - is that a hungry glint? - before mumbling something and heading off in another direction. He doesn't take long, and quickly returns with a bundle of clothing that he hands Rhys through the gap in the doorway.

“Here, kiddo. These don't fit me anymore. They're still gonna be way too big, but it's all I've got,” Jack states, and Rhys nods anymore closes the door quickly.

When Rhys unfurls the pile of clothing he notices something. _He won't be wearing any underwear_. He bites his lip and shudders, quickly pulling on the articles of clothing and running a hand through his hair. He's pretty sure he's dead, but that's okay.

Rhys walks out of the bathroom, padding down the hall with his dirty clothes in hand, to where he hears a tv playing. He freezes when he sees Jack just splayed out on the couch, looking careless and relaxed.

Jack’s lazy smirk when he looks up at Rhys makes the younger man absolutely _melt_.

“Did you enjoy the shower, buttercup?” he asks, as if he doesn't already know the answer.

Rhys nods, padding over to the couch where Jack is. “Where, um, where do you want me to put my clothes?”

Jack shrugs. “Wanna burn them?”

“N-no!” Rhys squeaks. “I need these! They're some of the few clothes I have for outside of work!”

Jack frowns. “But you see, Kitten, you've got _Handsome goddamned Jack_ on your side now. You're getting more clothes pronto. As soon as I deal with Wallethead.”

“Deal with him?” Rhys tilts his head and takes a careful seat next to Jack. “What does that mean?”

Jack huffs out a gruff chuckle. “Oh, pumpkin, it means I'm gonna kill the son of a bitch."

Rhys stops in his tracks, whipping around to turn at Jack with wide eyes.

“And you better not cum in those pants, too. Those are the only ones I have that are that goddamned small.”

Rhys frowns. “You're gonna kill my boss.”

“And burn down that building,” Jack adds, completely unphased by his words.

“Jack, that's where I _live_ ,” Rhys states worriedly, frown crossing the entirety of his features.

This statement causes Jack to frown, too. “You _live_ there?”

Rhys nods numbly, eyes cast down to his lap.

“Rhysie, not anymore. Anyone else live there?” Jack asks.

“N-no, no, just… just me…”

“Why the _fuck_ are you the only one that lives there?”

“V-Vasquez hasn't been paying me so he could take care of my medical bills and he said he was putting some away to get me a prosthetic so I'd be able to see and use my arm again - “ Rhys hurriedly explains, but Jack stops him.

“What do you mean, you can't see?” Jack asks, eyebrows knit together. His anger is far beyond boiling, but not at the kid.

“My, um. My left eye is glass. I can't see out of it.”

“Jesus _fuck_ , Rhysie. We're going to get your shit and get you _out_ of there, and I'm gonna _kill the shit out of him_ ,” Jack snarls, getting up from his position on the couch. Rhys gets up equally as quickly, because he feels as though he'd be in danger if he doesn't.

Jack grabs everything he'll need - a good pair of gloves and a pistol, and is quickly out the door, leaving Rhys to hurry behind him.

Rhys isn't sure how they get to the garage so fast from the top floor, but it happens, and soon enough he's hurriedly rushing into the passenger side of Jack’s car and belting out directions for the older man to drive.

Jack drives so fast Rhys is sure they're going to die in a car accident. But they don't. Because somehow Jack is an immaculate driver and wow. They're at _The House of Boys_ in no time and Jack is getting out of the car before Rhys can even register what's going on. The thin man hurries out and runs after Jack.

Jack’s already inside and yelling for the owner, which quickly brings Vasquez out from his “office.” Jack has an evil smirk on his face as he takes in the sight of the man before him.

Vasquez stops short when he notices that it's Handsome Jack, standing in front of Rhys.

“I-I'm sorry, Handsome Jack, sir, he wasn't ready for someone of such status - “ he starts babbling hurrying over to grab at Rhys’ arm, but Jack grabs him before he can get anywhere near the younger man in a grip that all but breaks Vasquez’s arm.

“Don't you _dare_ touch him. **_You have no right_** ,” Jack seeths, voice like venom. Vasquez is reduced to a whimpering sack of bones, begging the powerful man.

“I-I-I don't know what he told you but it was all _lies_ ,” Vasquez tries to convince, voice shaky and terrified. Jack tightens his grip and moves his wrist in such a way that Vasquez’s for arm snaps, causing the puffy-haired male to scream out in pain.

“You need to shut up,” Jack says calmly, dropping the broken arm. He smirks cruelly at the man before kicking him over so he's lying on his back, stomping harshly on his elbow to shatter it. Vasquez cries out in pain, trying to pull away, but Jack grabs the front if his shirt tight in his fist.

“Listen to me, you _swine_ , I'm doing this because I should have done this _years ago_ , understand me?”

Vasquez gives a shallow nod right before Jack’s fist meets with his nose, easily shattering the cartilage and bone. The next swing is at his squared-off jaw, breaking the bone and causing teeth to fly.

A kick to the man’s knee makes it go at an odd angle. A punch to the gut shatters a few ribs. Whipping out his pistol, Jack aims it under Vasquez’s ruined jaw. The man trembles.

“You never should've touched your boys,” Jack says quietly right before he pulls the trigger. He throws the body down to the floor, standing up tall and turning back to Rhys.

“Grab your shit, cupcake. You're staying with me.”


End file.
